


but you are so magnetic (you pick up all the pins)

by theheadgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadgirl/pseuds/theheadgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Percy's birthday, or near enough, and Oliver has a surprise for him. (Spoiler alert: it is not a cake.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	but you are so magnetic (you pick up all the pins)

It's quiet when Percy lets himself into his flat, as well it should be. It's been a long day, and he's exhausted. The only thing that kept him going up all three flights of stairs was the thought of a glass of wine, a book, and his couch. He isn't often particularly grateful when it's Friday, but today he's silently thanking anyone who might be listening. Closing the door behind him, he manually locks the deadbolt and the door itself before pulling his wand from its holster on his left arm and refreshing the wards on the place. Although things have been peaceful for years, there are some habits it's impossible to break. A murmured _Lumos_ turns on the lights in the kitchen and the living room, and Percy goes into the kitchen, setting his briefcase on the counter before making a beeline for the bottle of wine on the counter. Another tap of his wand Vanishes the cork, then he fills a glass a little fuller than necessary. Picking up the glass, he starts back to his bedroom to change, loosening his tie with one hand and lifting the glass for a sip with the other. 

Pushing open the door, he freezes, wine halfway lowered. 

"Oh, Perce, you're already getting started. I was worried I was going to have to do all the work."

Lounging on Percy's bed, naked as the day he was born and grinning like he's won the lottery, Oliver Wood gets up and plucks the glass from Percy's fingers, taking a swig himself before conscientiously giving it back.

"Oliver, why are you in my flat? You said you had a late practice tonight," Percy says, opting for a direct approach over "hello" or "thank you."

Despite the other man's bluntness, Oliver's grin doesn't falter. "It's your birthday. Couldn’t let you get wind of your surprise." For a moment, he can practically see the gears turning behind those bright blue eyes. 

"My birthday is Monday."

"And you know you won't want to celebrate properly on Monday, plus your mum's got that big dinner planned for you tomorrow," Oliver volleys back. "No time like the present, mate." To cap off his sentence, he closes the distance between them and presses his mouth to the other man's, very effectively cutting off the protest forming on his lips. Percy briefly debates pushing him off but decides, ultimately, it's easier to just kiss him back. 

By the time the kiss breaks, Percy is flushed and Oliver has his shirt half unbuttoned, his large hands moving under the thin fabric and working up his undershirt. 

"So are you still going to fuss?" Oliver asks, and Percy shivers, because arousal has thickened his brogue so it sounds more like "gan't'fass" and that is making him hard.

"No," he says, realizing Oliver is still waiting for an answer and a shiver won't be sufficient. Oliver grins, one of those really bright smiles that seems to light up the whole room, and they don't come up for air again until Percy's underwear has fallen around his ankles. 

The ginger moves to take Oliver's erection in hand, because it's right there and how can he say no? But Oliver stops him, calloused fingers wrapping around Percy's slim wrist, shakes his head. 

"Kills me to stop you, but that's not on the docket just yet," he says. 

"I thought this was my present," Percy says, a bit petulant. "Surely I ought to be able to do what I like?"

"The point of this evening is not to get me off," the Quidditcher replies, and leans in to bite the other man's earlobe, making him shiver again. "Now get on the bed."

With an overly dramatic roll of his eyes, Percy pulls back and lies down. For a moment, Oliver looks at him with such lust and want that it makes him uncomfortable, a warm flush coloring his cheeks. Then Oliver is moving, lying on top of him, their bodies slipping flush against each other, and any discomfort is forgotten in the rush of heat.

It's too soon that he pulls back, and Percy lets out a noise he will deny to the death is a whimper, reaching for Oliver to tug him back. Oliver doesn't let him.

"I've got to get something. Hang on a minute."

"Thus far, your gift hasn't been particularly satisfying," Percy grumbles. Oliver ignores his whining and gets off the bed, reaching down and plucking something off the floor. When the length of striped silk spills from his grip, Percy recognizes it immediately. "What are you doing with my tie?"

"Patience." He crawls back on to the bed, plucks Percy's glasses from his face, then wraps the tie over Percy's eyes before the redhead can protest. 

"Why?" he asks, pointing to it.

"Because your present's a surprise, git," Oliver retorts. "It wouldn't be much of a surprise if you saw it coming. Here - " Another shifting of weight on the bed, and his wine glass is pressed into his hand. "Finish your wine. It'll help you relax. I'll be back in a few."

Percy takes a sip, trying to track Oliver's movement through the creaking of the floor. "What are you getting, precisely?"

"I told you, it's a surprise. Now hush and drink your wine."

He hears footsteps go out the door, then sighs and lies back on the bed, taking another healthy drink of his wine. 

The wineglass is empty by the time the footsteps return, and Percy props himself up on one elbow. 

"Did you get what you were looking for?"

"Mm-hm." He hears the floor creak near the bed, then the mattress depressing under Oliver's weight. Long, calloused fingers twist into Percy's hair, and they pick up exactly where they'd left off. His lips are chapped and his tongue is demanding -

\- and then there is another mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of Percy's thigh. The redhead lets out a squawk of surprise, sitting up fast enough that he nearly cracks his head against Oliver's. "What?!"

He yanks the makeshift blindfold off and squints down the length of his body. Marcus Flint looks up at him, that wicked, slightly dangerous grin that Percy remembers so well curling across his face. 

"Happy birthday, Weasley." 

Percy turns back to Oliver, eyebrows arched, waiting for an explanation. "How did this -?" he asks, making a vague gesture around the room.

Oliver doesn't seem particularly inclined to answer, looking down at Marcus instead. 

"Merlin's beard," Marcus says, "you talk too much."

Percy opens his mouth, fully intending to talk a bit more, but Marcus suddenly envelops his cock in his own mouth and does something sinful with his tongue, and what started life as a snarky comeback catches on a moan. His back arches as he reaches down, fingers pressing against Marcus' close-cropped hair, determined to keep him close. Before he can make any other embarrassing noises, Oliver dives down to seal their mouths together again, his tongue plunging in, claiming Percy's forcefully. Any protests he may have had vanish, along with any sort of coherent thought. All he can do is shudder and writhe between them, clutching at the curve of Oliver's neck and trying to get a better grip on Marcus' hair, every nerve in his body singing with pleasure. 

Percy is dizzy with lack of air when Oliver breaks the kiss and starts moving down his neck - hard, sucking kisses that must be leaving red marks, that he wouldn't be surprised if they turned into bruises. His breath comes raggedly, half-moans curtailing into sharp gasps. Maybe it's coordinated, maybe it's not, Percy isn't sure (or sure of much besides mouths and hands), but Marcus wraps one hand around the base of Percy's erection and uses the other to cup his tightening balls, and at that same moment, Oliver bites hard at the junction of shoulder and neck. Percy makes a noise like he's just been shattered and his whole body wracks, spilling over his stomach and Marcus' hand. Oliver moves up to kiss him again, slow and tender, swallowing the sounds of his climax. When he finally slumps back against the bed, trembling from head to toe, the Quidditch players pull back nearly in sync.

“Happy birthday, Perce," Oliver says, sounding far too pleased with himself. Percy supposes he's earned it. Marcus contents himself with licking the spunk off of Percy's stomach, his tongue working in broad strokes over the pale skin. 

"Oliver," Percy says once he's recovered a bit, his voice low, words slightly slurred, "this is my birthday present, isn't it?"

"'Course it is," Oliver confirms. He's settled in against the headboard, watching Marcus finish up down below. 

"In that case," Percy says, shifting up onto his elbows, "I should be able to do precisely what I like, shouldn't I?"

"Within reason, I reckon," Oliver replies, not sure where Percy is going with this. Percy sits up further, blinking, the glaze of pleasure slipping from his eyes for a much more characteristic sharpness. 

"I expected so as well," the redhead agrees with deceptive calm. He sits up fully now, gently pushing Marcus' head away, and keeps moving, rolling from his back onto his hands and knees. The sight makes Oliver's mouth go dry, and from the look on Marcus' face, he feels the same. 

"I thought," he continues in that same even voice, "that it would behoove me to thank you properly for providing such a valuable present."

"Behoove you," Marcus repeats with a little laugh. "Only you could get fucked senseless and use words like 'behoove'."

"I'm not going to limit my vocabulary to what you believe is appropriate for the circumstances." Percy glances over his shoulder at Marcus, then back to Oliver. "So?"

It's hard to say no to such an invitation. The two Quidditchers take Percy's relative position to them as a hint, and once Marcus finds the lube, he slathers it on his fingers and starts the preparations. It's maybe two fingers later that the redhead is bucking back against them, mouth slightly open with pleasure, already well on his way to getting hard again. Once he's ready, Oliver and Marcus position themselves and slide. For Oliver, it's a familiar but still thrilling sensation of wet and heat and suction. He loses himself for a moment in the feel of it, of that surprisingly talented tongue working around his shaft, the gentle vibration of Percy’s noises of pleasure, and the frustratingly erratic but delicious movement of his mouth as Marcus’ thrusts push him forward - definitely a rhythm, but not enough to get used to.

It is spectacularly decadent to see prim and proper Percy Weasley like this, thin lips wrapped around one cock while his hips rock back against another. Marcus' large hands have settled against those hips, tightly enough that the skin is indented beneath his fingers, and he lets out a low grunt of satisfaction with each thrust. Percy has never been particularly vocal in bed (he says it has to do with growing up in a house with eight other people), but Oliver can hear and feel little gasps and whimpers slipping out around his mouthful, vibrating through him. Oliver's tangled his own fingers into those thick red curls, hard enough that he's certain it has to hurt, but Percy hardly seems to be complaining. If anything - eyes closed, skin flushed, body undulating - it looks like he's enjoying himself just as much as Oliver and Marcus are.

Marcus starts cursing along with his moans, his thrusts growing erratic, voice getting louder. Oliver's eyes go to Marcus' face, and he's somewhat amused (but mostly aroused) to realize he can tell the exact moment when the other man's climax hits him. His face twists, and he looks a bit like he's been punched in the gut. He breathes out harshly, mixing with moans and curses, before he suddenly goes very still, hips flush against Percy's, hands digging hard into his skin. 

Percy lets out a keening whine, and deep-throats Oliver far further than he'd expected, and holding him down there for much longer than he ever has. Oliver makes a sharp cry that he barely recognizes as his own, and it's just moments later that he's coming down Percy's throat. He holds on a little longer, then drops back, breathing hard, feeling a little sleepy and slow but utterly satisfied. Once he can coordinate the muscles to do so, he reaches out to brush his fingers along Percy's flushed cheek.

"All right, Perce?"

With an effort, Percy lifts his head. With his mussed hair, flushed and sweaty skin, and an afterglow softening the usual sharpness of his blue eyes, he looks far from the perfectly put-together bureaucrat who had entered the flat earlier. "I think," he says, and Marcus laughs to hear the faint prim, pompous note in it, "that your gift turned out to be quite satisfactory, thank you."

"Satisfactory," Oliver repeats, grinning. "That's good to hear."

Moving slowly, Percy moves to sit on the bed, eyes going between Marcus and Oliver with careful calculation. 

"Of course," he continues, and that calculating look has an edge of wickedness that no one would ever believe came from Percy Weasley, "if you want next year's present to improve upon that, then we - " one hand hooks around Oliver's upper arm - "will need - " the other takes hold of Marcus' wrist - "to practice."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go, as always, to the wonderful people who support and enable me. 
> 
> Shan, this one's for you. <3


End file.
